.-.

Beneath

Chapter Two Hundred Seven – Chains

Loki wound his way through the palace along a circuitous route. There was no corner of this gargantuan building he had not explored, thus finding a path to take him from his chambers to the throne room while encountering few people wasn't difficult. Some of the corridors and chambers he passed through along the way were so rarely used that they weren't lit. A lone servant he passed in one such corridor nodded respectfully as she bustled past, the flutter of his cape telling her he held some position of importance, but he was confident she hadn't recognized him in the low light.

He entered a waiting chamber, one not far from the throne room, a place where a petitioner could pluck a book from the shelf to page through while waiting to meet with someone who would determine whether he or she would be granted an audience before the king on days when he held open court. For reasons no one had ever been able to explain to him, it also had a secret door, the one Loki came through. A door, a corridor, and then a guarded door were all that remained between him and the throne room.

"You're very distracted."

Loki whirled, hand flying from doorknob to the knife at his waist. A figure stood from a chair in the far corner, and he gleaned from the movements what he should have from the voice. But she was right; he was distracted. "Mother," he said with a wary nod, slipping the knife back into its place. "Do you often lurk in the corners of this particular chamber?"

"I broke the rules."

Loki stared, waiting for her to explain herself. She hadn't approached; with the only light in the chamber coming from thin lines around the two doors, he could still barely see her. "What rules?" he finally prompted.

"I asked Heimdall to find you. Once I heard enough of your route I knew you would pass through here."

"So you decided to set up an ambush," he said, smiling thinly. He was surprised she hadn't sought him out before now; this was an odd time for it. The "rules" he wasn't worried about. She was referring to an agreement from his youth, when he and Thor had chafed against all the eyes on them at all times. "I'm expected in the throne room."

"I know. But if I could just have a moment of your time…please."

Loki's jaw worked, but no response came forth. Frigga's voice was soft, and fragile in a way he wasn't accustomed to. It dug into him and both drew him to her and repelled him.

"I've always been too late. I don't want to let that happen again. It's not as though they can begin without you. They'll wait."

"All right." He reached over to activate the lighting near the door – continuing to stand here in the dark was only adding to his unease. He heard his mother draw in an audible breath, and though he'd forgotten about it initially, he knew immediately what she was reacting to.

Frigga crept forward, out of the darkest corner of the room, eyes fixed on Loki's cape. She reached out to touch the heavy fabric, but stopped short and looked up at Loki. "Yellow? Baldur's yellow?"

Loki nodded jerkily. "We're here today because two people were wronged. But I at least stand here alive. Baldur doesn't. I wear his color for him."

She ran a hand lightly down his chest, over the usual layers of leather, this time in three different shades of brown. Everything he wore was brown, except for the yellow cape and the gold clasps holding it in place. "You look very handsome," she said, struggling to keep in check the emotion threatening to choke off her words. "It suits you. Baldur would approve."

Loki wasn't certain of that; at the time of Baldur's death they hadn't exactly been on good terms. But Loki found it appropriate, and Baldur wasn't here to ask. "You speak his name. Everyone else still avoids it."

"A thousand years of habit isn't going to be broken overnight. It will be broken, though. Baldur's name can live again now."

"I'm sorry I took his—." Loki's lips drew into a grim line. "His name. A thousand years of habit isn't going to be broken overnight."

"No. But it will be broken. You took nothing from him, or from us." Frigga steeled herself. Crying, allowing her pain to overshadow her resolve, might suggest to Loki that she sought his sympathy. Seeing him in that yellow cape had knocked her from her course, but not so far that she couldn't find it again. "I wanted to see you before you went in there."

"So you said, more or less. Not to try to dissuade me from anything, I hope. It would be wasted breath."

"Not at all. You will do as you must, and as that man deserves. You have our support, Loki. All of our support. That, too, is far too late."

"Mother—"

"No. Please, hear me out. What I want to say to you needs to be said. Sit with me?"

Loki glanced at the door. He'd never found it easy to say no to his mother. And she was right; they would wait. For Geirmund, held outside the throne room, a delay meant standing there squirming. He gave a crisp nod and let her lead him back to where she'd been sitting before. He activated the lighting here, too, flooding the corner with it.

"A third child is different," Frigga said, folding her hands over the deep blue silk of her gown. "Or perhaps even a second. You and Thor were so close in age that we didn't often think of him as first and you as second. For many practical matters, you were both first."

"Except when it came to succession," Loki put in.

"Yes, that's right, but we weren't thinking much about that when you were not even half a century old. With Baldur…I already knew he would have his bumps and scrapes, and he'd be fine. I didn't worry nearly as much. If you and Thor could make it to adulthood in one piece, then surely anyone could. But when those letters came, and he was so close to twenty, so close and yet still so much more vulnerable than you two, I panicked. No one had over gone out of his way to threaten or hurt either of you. There were a few arguments and fights that escalated. Times I worried for you and even feared for you. But nothing that seemed so…ominous. Some unknown person out there who wanted to do him harm? It could have been anyone. I worried it could be someone privileged with trust, a palace servant, even an Einherjar. That made no sense, of course, but it made no sense that anyone would want to hurt him. I was so afraid for him, and my fear turned into paranoia. I forbade him to leave the palace and then I forbade him to leave the private wing and…well. You remember how that went."

Loki nodded. He remembered. Baldur had reacted to the equivalent of imprisonment about the same as any eighteen-year-old probably would have. He carefully kept the frown from his face but he didn't know why his mother had pulled him aside to tell him a story he already knew. He hadn't known exactly what was going through her mind back then, but deducing the basics wasn't difficult.

"I grew desperate. And I made a terrible decision. I didn't ask Baldur. I didn't consult with your father. I was determined that no harm would come to him, whatever the cost to me. And with dark magic, there's almost always a cost. The cost of that magic…. One child dead. Another child escaping death on a technicality and enduring unspeakable horrors while his mother won't even look at—"

"Mother, please. Stop this. I forgave you for that a long time ago, when you were still sleeping in a chair at my bedside. I know your grief destroyed you."

"How can you have truly forgiven me? You knew I believed you guilty, and yet you knew you were in fact innocent. Did you say so because you believed it would comfort me? Because you feared I would turn from you yet again?"

Frigga was leaning forward, and Loki, seated at an angle to face her, leaned away. "I didn't."

"Why then?"

"I didn't…know I was innocent. I didn't know I wasn't guilty. You haven't talked to Odin?'

"Not since early this morning. What do you mean you didn't know you weren't guilty?"

"I was confused. Everyone else thought I was guilty, so I suppose I thought I was guilty, too. My mind wasn't clear." Loki cast his gaze about the room, unable to look her in the eye. Whatever had happened back then to so muddle his thoughts hardly mattered now. But the idea of his mind being unclear had reverberations in the present that were rather more chilling.

"So…when you confessed…"

"I believed every word I said."

Frigga stared. Then she snapped shut the jaw she hadn't realized had fallen open and shot up from her chair, putting a quick few steps between her and Loki. Her back to him, she squeezed her eyes shut tightly and her fists even tighter, digging nails into palms until the pain dragged her out of the need to scream and destroy and weep. Then she drew in a slow deep breath, let it out just as slowly, and returned to her chair, hand out toward Loki who'd been about to follow her. "I'm sorry. I should have realized. You were in such terrible condition, of course your mind wasn't clear. I'm so sorry, Loki. We did that to you. Sought your confession again and again. Of course you—"

"That wasn't you."

"It doesn't matter. I knew it was happening. I have a confession to make. I've been trying to, but I haven't been clear enough. You're wrong, you see. Grief didn't destroy me. Guilt did. I never told you why I slept in a chair at your side for months. Not the real reason. Yes, of course I was horrified at myself for having abandoned you. Even if you had killed Baldur, you were clearly not rejoicing in his death. I was still your mother and you were still my son, and I should have behaved as such. But even that shameful truth isn't the whole truth. My grief was knotted up in my guilt."

She paused for a moment, allowed herself a moment to steady herself, to speak without excessive emotion. "I set all of this in motion. All of it. I allowed that game to continue. He'd been denied so much that I gave in and let him have his fun. The sense of invulnerability that led to his arrogance? That was my fault, because I made him invulnerable, except I didn't. The mistletoe you discovered? I missed it. I didn't know anything had been left unaffected by the magic I chose to wield. I am the cause of every terrible thing that followed that decision. The arrow you made. The arrow Geirmund changed. Baldur's death. Your arrest. The judgement against you. All that you endured that broke your body…and broke your mind. The confession you believed. The confession we believed."

Frigga stopped again to catch her breath. Loki, at least, was just sitting there and letting her speak, his expression unreadable. "I untangled myself from all of that far too late, and I swore to myself that I would never again turn my back on you, no matter what happened. And now to know that I had turned my back not only on a son who needed his mother, but on a son who was not even guilty. I'm so ashamed. So ashamed that I didn't want to face you. But I can't do that again. I can't withdraw from you. I can't hide the truth of my guilt from you. And I couldn't let you go in there without first assuring you that you have my complete, unwavering support." Whether that means anything to you or not, she added, silently because she didn't want Loki's automatic assurance in turn that it did, not when it may come only from a sense of obligation. She stood, deciding she didn't want Loki to feel obliged to say anything at all. She resisted the instinct to extend her hand for him to take. "Shall we go?"

Loki stood, too, as was polite custom. "You go ahead. I'll…"

Frigga hesitated only a second before nodding and heading for the door.

He watched her resolute strides with swirling emotion that didn't break through the shock until her palm curled over the door handle. "Stop."

She turned; the word was spoken as a command. She waited several long seconds before Loki continued.

"You would…simply leave? After all that?"

His voice, she thought, sounded cold. She swallowed. He could say nothing worse to her than the things she'd already said to herself. "I don't have to. I thought you'd rather… I thought you might want me to. I wanted to confess my guilt to you, not to burden you with it. I know I was guilty of that, too, back then."

"You're telling me that this, all of this," Loki said, extending an arm and sweeping it across the space between them, "is your fault?"

"It is."

Loki looked away for a moment to gather his thoughts. He'd always known she felt intensely guilty for walking away from him – it had consumed her and smothered him. That she had ultimately blamed herself not just for that but for both Baldur's death and him supposedly committing murder was new, and difficult to fathom, intertwined as it now was with the fact – the fact – that he was not responsible for Baldur's death after all. That he kept having to remind himself of that particular fact, however, wasn't due solely to habit. "I understand how you feel, Mother. Geirmund would not have had an arrow to change had I not first discovered the mistletoe and fashioned an arrow from it. I didn't kill him. But I still played my part."

"I created the opportunity. You mustn't shoulder that blame, Loki. Especially not when it's finally been lifted after all this time."

"You know," Loki began, reluctantly recalling a moment on the stairs with a deep internal cringe, "this may sound shocking, I realize, but Thor may have actually said something reasonably insightful recently."

"He does do that on occasion," Frigga said, a wan smile breaking through her otherwise dour countenance. "Perhaps even more often than you give him credit for."

"If you tell him I said so, I'll deny it. And I'm sure it was entirely by accident. But he pointed out, however indirectly and ineptly, that—"

"Loki," Frigga chided.

"That the cycle of guilt can be endless, if you seek out every individual behind every distinct action or circumstance that contributed to a wrong. We may as well say that Nanna should bear the blame. After all, had she not befriended Geirmund, and then turned her attention to Baldur instead, Geirmund's attention would not have fallen on Baldur, either. It's all Nanna's fault, really."

"No, Loki. Nanna bears n—"

"Of course she bears no blame. Might she not still feel some guilt, wherever she is, when she learns of all this?"

"I suppose she might. But she shouldn't."

"Nor should you. Nor should I," Loki said, as much to convince his mother as himself. "Perhaps a thousand others played some role, big or small, direct or indirect, in events taking place exactly as they did that day. But only one both directly and willfully caused Baldur's death. Only one. It is his blame to shoulder. Each of the rest of us…we need to…"

"You need to let go of that burden. To set it down."

"So do you."

"No. You were used, Loki. I—"

"So were you. Your love for your son was used. You had the noblest of purposes, to protect your vulnerable child. I acted out of…pettiness and jealousy and anger and—"

"Was there not also love? I remember what you said. What you said when we didn't believe you," Frigga clarified. There could be no shying away from that. "You were convinced that he wasn't as invulnerable as we believed, and you wanted to prove that to him so that he would take his safety more seriously."

Loki nodded, not trusting himself to speak as emotion welled in his throat. Frigga wasn't wrong. But she wasn't right, either. If that was all he'd wanted, he could have found Baldur in a private moment and pricked his brother's finger with a mistletoe twig whittled to a fine point. A tiny drop of blood welling up on a fingertip would have been enough to make his point. But he'd wanted that "prick" to be public and dramatic. Jealousy and anger had driven his actions far more than love. Within the jealousy was love, he supposed, but this was not the form of love that had led his mother to enchant an entire realm to be unable to harm Baldur. Frigga was noble; he was not.

It struck him then how similar his attempt to prove that Thor wasn't ready for the throne was. He'd wanted to protect then – to protect Asgard from Thor's uncontrolled temper and self-serving arrogance. But it wasn't noble, either. Another complex plan that had swerved in a direction he could never have predicted.

One insufficiently-thought-out scheme that hadn't gone as planned at a time, though. "I don't blame you for what happened to Baldur, and I meant what I said, I forgave you a long time ago for what happened to me. I did come to my senses and remember the truth, afterward. I knew that I didn't mean for Baldur to die, while you continued to believe that I did. I knew that and I…I still loved you. I never thought about that in terms of forgiveness, but I suppose I forgave you for that a long time ago as well."

"Perhaps only because you still believed you bore some degree of guilt. Because you didn't know someone else was involved."

"Perhaps you're right. I honestly don't know. But if I can let go of that burden, if I can try to, then you can as well." Everyone else's guilt, even her guilt in other matters, was of no concern to him. But in this he felt a kinship with her. If he could assuage some of her guilt, perhaps it would help further assuage his own.

"It's been with me for too long. It's a part of me."

"You think it hasn't been with me all this time? That it isn't also a part of me?"

Frigga paused to take a long look at Loki, framed from the neck down in a yellow cape. She didn't know. Perhaps she didn't know him. "I had thought…that it wasn't any longer. That you had managed to leave it behind. We didn't talk about it, and…" But she hadn't left it behind. Why had she assumed that he had? "Did you? Did you ever leave it behind?"

"I did," Loki murmured. "It was the only way to continue living. That doesn't mean it stopped being part of me." It had been buried deep enough that he no longer actively thought about it and hadn't for centuries, deep enough that The Other's rummaging never dug deep enough to reach it. Regardless, no matter what else he did, no matter what else he became, he would always be a man who had killed his younger brother. Or so he had believed.

Frigga scrutinized her son's face, so very shuttered. So much pain he had to be walling off. She shuffled closer, afraid Loki would step away but he remained, impassive, looking down at her with an unreadable expression. She reached tentatively for his face, every angle and plane of it intimately familiar. She spread her fingers over his cheek, the same cheek she'd stroked as it grew pudgy from regular feedings then grew sharper into boyhood and adulthood, sinking in during his time under the serpent and slowly filling out again afterward. She rubbed her thumb gently under his eye. "I've always thought your eyes were beautiful. Striking. How their color shifts in the light and around other colors. They adapt to their surroundings. Just like you." Loki's head drew back minutely, not enough to pull away from her. "Thor is Thor, no matter where he goes, no matter who he's with. He wouldn't know how to be anything but himself. You…I always thought that few saw the real you, but that I was among those who had that privilege. And now, when I know what you had to keep from us, that confession you couldn't recant, how shallow your trust in us must have been all this time even before you learned what you did about your past… How much of yourself have you hidden away even from me? Have I ever really known you since Baldur's death?"

He would have said she did. That of all those who thought they knew him, she at least came closest. Now he had moments when he wasn't even sure he knew himself. "I have no answers for you, Mother."

She squeezed his face, then let her arm drop down to find his hand and take it. Part of her would have loved to hear a denial, but had he given one, she knew she couldn't have trusted it. The truth was better, even when it hurt. It was a painfully learned lesson. "None of us was the same after what happened to Baldur. What happened to you. But you were so alone. Even when it was all over, and you weren't alone anymore…you were still alone. I hope you don't feel alone anymore, at least."

Loki's gaze drifted away. "I don't," he said after a moment.

"I'm glad of that."

He squeezed her hand back when she squeezed his. He knew she was referring to herself, perhaps even to Thor and Odin. But Loki wasn't thinking of his mother, and certainly not of Thor or Odin. "Baldur's death was not your fault, Mother. It was his," he said, angling his head toward the door that led to the throne room. "All of Asgard will know it, and he will finally pay the price for it. Please, go ahead now. I plan to make an entrance."

"Of course you do," Frigga said, mustering a smile and ignoring the issue of blame. It was Geirmund's fault before the law, and she held him responsible without question. But it was also hers, bound in chains to her own conscience, and would forever be so. She couldn't force Loki to accept history as she had just recast it, as she had always seen it; she could only ensure that it was no longer hidden from him.

She left Loki behind and covered the remaining short distance to the throne room, where expectant eyes fell on her, glancing beyond her to see if Loki followed. Geirmund himself was not present; he would be brought in after Loki arrived. Thor stood at the foot of the throne with Finnulfur, while Odin was speaking with Bragi so intently that neither had noticed her arrival. Jane, standing on the opposite side of the hall with Bragi's wife Edny and Jolgeir, caught her eye immediately, and Frigga went to join them.

"He should be here soon," she told them, noting the worry etched in particular into Jane's brow. Loki, Frigga realized, had been looking elsewhere when he said he didn't feel alone.

/


/

Still in the waiting room, Loki dragged his thoughts from Frigga and her "confession." He'd obviously been unaware of the extent of her sense of guilt, but it was no longer news that she had kept secrets from him, so the shock of learning about it now was minor. He didn't want her to bear that guilt, not for what happened to Baldur, not for having abandoned him, not for having not believed him – although he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the latter now that his own understanding of what happened had shifted – but ultimately it was hers to deal with. He'd said what he could, but he had his own guilt, and little capacity left to spend weighing the significance of hers. And the best way to deal with that was to ensure that the one who was truly guilty paid for his crimes.

To Geirmund's list of transgressions, though, he added one which would not be among those stated publicly: making his mother feel responsible for the death of her own child.

The floggings would begin tonight, and he would witness the first round before his brief return to the South Pole with Jane. He still wasn't satisfied with the formulation of punishment he'd come to, but he'd given up on trying to find one he was satisfied with. The truth was, no amount of suffering on Geirmund's part would undo anything that had happened over a thousand years ago. He would make his statement, and he would see Geirmund humiliated and then killed. Justice far too late, but justice all the same.

Mind back in the proper place, Loki made a quick change, then started for the throne again, and this time nothing turned him back.

Centuries of masking reactions in public kept his steps and his face smooth once he entered. He couldn't recall the exact wording in the message Thor had sent him, only his impression that a few members of the Assembly wanted to attend. Not only was the entire Assembly here, as far as he could tell, but a few hundred others, too. Spouses and other family members, Einherjar, servants, random others. Thor's friends the Idiots Four were there front and center; of them, only Volstagg and Hogun had ever even met Baldur, and Hogun had only known him as a baby.

He'd meant what he said in his response to Thor, though: he didn't care who was here. The more the merrier, as they said on Midgard. He'd wanted to make an entrance, after all. His eyes fell on Jane, who he graced with a small smile.

/


/

Jane felt some of the tension flow out from her when Loki first emerged, though it was immediately replaced by a new tension. This was a Loki she hadn't seen in a while, a haughty Loki crackling with power, knowing every eye was on him and reveling in it. She told herself not to be nervous, that it was still the same Loki, but some less rational part of her brain wasn't fully getting the message.

And then he caught her eye and smiled. Just a little smile; maybe no one else even noticed. Jane did, and it took the edge off the nervousness.

She tried to smile back, but Loki was already turning toward Thor, long yellow cape flowing elegantly behind him, shining golden horns rising up from his helmet and curling back. It was a little odd for her, seeing him in yellow with his Asgardian-style clothes, but a quick glance around told her that for everyone else it was downright shocking. Thor's mouth was literally agape. "Not yellow," she remembered him insisting when she'd dragged him to the Pole Mart for some casual clothes. For her, the horns were the surprise. On Earth they'd seemed scary, and she'd quickly figured out that Loki used them very intentionally as a tool for intimidation. Here on Asgard, once the initial surprise passed, she realized they fit right in, atop Loki's regal bearing. Their function, though, Jane was certain, was no different.

Around her people were now shifting, taking up positions in a loose U in front of the throne, as they waited for the event to begin.

/


/

"Birds will fly in and build a nest," Loki said, earning a confused look from Thor, followed by a closed mouth and a scowl.

"Thank you, Mother. You're wearing yellow?"

"Yes. What a keen observation."

Thor nodded; Loki obviously didn't want to discuss it, and he supposed now wasn't the time anyway. He pulled Loki further away, leaving only Finnulfur close enough to hear. "We can have him brought in whenever you're ready. Finnulfur will state his crimes and ask for his public confession, then—"

"He's already confessed."

"Yes. And this time he'll say it before—"

"He has confessed, Thor. He's even been offered an opportunity to recant and declined it, which is as good as a second confession. There is no need for a third confession. Were you also planning a trial without informing me? A trial which he also declined, I remind you?"

"I'm not—" He paused for a steadying breath. "Let me explain. This is for your protection. I don't—"

"My pro—!"

Thor took a step back. If Loki was capable of bursting into flame and incinerating everyone within shouting distance, Thor was certain he and everyone else in the throne room – for they'd all heard that shout – would have been reduced to ash and smoldering bones. He glanced down then, and was almost surprised to not find a knife bearing down on him, or having already slipped between his ribs unfelt due to shock.

Loki waited until his breaths no longer shook with rage before continuing. This time he kept his volume low, and his pitch dropped along with it. "I am at a loss as to what I have managed to so badly misunderstand. I was under the impression that I was fully vindicated. You yourself said as supposed king of this realm that I was officially exonerated. The guilty party has been identified, and he is standing outside this hall in chains waiting for his fate to be announced. Precisely what threat do you believe I need protection from? What happened since last night?" As soon as he said it, he knew. "You met with the Assembly."

"No one was still expressing doubt by the end. But we thought it prudent – Finnulfur and I, that is – that Geirmund state his confession here." Thor hesitated, but Loki would figure out the rest anyway, as soon as the question was asked. "And officially state that his confession was in no way coerced."

Loki was grateful his back was to the crowd, because whatever expression he wore, he knew it wasn't part of the image he'd intended to convey tonight.

"I'm sorry. I didn't expect it either. But I believe I set the matter straight."

"I suppose I should take it as a compliment."

"I don't…ah, if you wish."

"My powers of persuasion are truly impressive, to convince someone to confess to a thousand-year-old crime no one was pursuing. And also…remarkably random," Loki said, voice turning falsely whimsical.

"If you insist, we can skip this, but I would—"

"It's fine. Include it. The procedure is irrelevant to me. There's only one part I'm interested in."

"All right. Shall we have him brought in, then?"

"Yes. But he will be brought to me first. He owes me something."

Thor nodded, thinking it better not to ask. The best thing he could do for his brother now was to let the proceedings begin. "Bosi would like to say something to him. I'm sorry, I meant to ask you before. I forgot. I told him it was your decision."

Thor, Loki could tell, wasn't entirely at ease with the idea, and that told him that Bosi was probably among those skeptical of Geirmund's confession. Did Bosi mean to conduct his own personal trial? The repeated confession was beginning to sound like a genuinely good idea. "He may do so. But only after Finnulfur has taken his confession again." If Bosi thought to voice support for Geirmund, he would do so right after the man freely admitted to murdering Baldur, and live with the consequences of such brazen stupidity.

Loki took up position at the foot of the dais stairs, directly in front of the throne. A position only Thor should take, really, but he knew Thor wouldn't object, not aloud, not tonight. As Thor spoke with Finnulfur and then with new Chief Palace Einherjar Huskol, Loki again surveyed the crowd, this time with more intent. At least one of them and probably more had still believed him guilty of Baldur's murder even after Geirmund's confession. He was glad Thor had informed him of it, for it allowed him to change his mind about Geirmund's punishment yet again. In the few steps left before reaching the throne room, he'd changed his mind and decided to shorten the punishment, ordering the maximum number of lashes per day and sending Geirmund to the ax as quickly as possible. Now he decided he would instead lengthen it, and require a public verbal confession before each day's lashing.

Geirmund's wife was there, too, surrounded by a small familiar group, an older woman's arm wrapped tightly around her – Dagrun's mother, perhaps. Several others from that group also stood around them, each there to support the unfortunate Dagrun, he assumed. He didn't begrudge her that. The road ahead of her would be difficult, and she would need her family's support.

With Huskol making his way from the throne room, Loki's eyes sought out his mother, and found Odin taking up position by her side, not too far from Jane. As he watched, Thor crossed in front of him to stand at their mother's other side. A family unified. Without Baldur. And without him. His throat tightened.

He'd wanted that so much back then. His family huddled around him as Dagrun's was around her. Instead he'd been utterly alone, as alone as he suddenly felt up here before the throne. Some weak, childish part of him longed for it even now, he realized. A part of him that was still 34, barely out of his youth, the support of his family peeled away from him one by one as the evidence against him mounted.

He wasn't 34 anymore, though; he wasn't even 1,034 anymore. And that degree of comfort he wasn't sure he could accept even from Frigga now. He would slip in the knife his dear "brother" had clearly been nervous of before accepting it from Thor. He would burn Asgard to the ground before accepting it from Odin.

His eyes came back into focus and found his mother's. She gave him a subtle nod, holding his gaze. He did have her support. All of their support, according to her. Perhaps it was even true. Thor's probably was; he'd had no sense that the plan to have Geirmund repeat his confession was because Thor had any reservations, and it was Thor who had granted him this right in the first place, Thor who had insisted there would be no attempt to renege on that. Odin…maybe. He hadn't much cared to think about the man since their meeting earlier today. Odin had said some of the things that Loki had always wanted to hear. Apologies, assurances...exactly the sorts of things his mother would say to him. Exactly the sorts of things his mother did say to him. Frigga's words coming from Odin's mouth. The question he couldn't quite find an answer to: Why would Odin bother? He hadn't felt the same desire for control coming from Odin that he'd railed against in the conversations he'd been forced into at the Pole. He couldn't figure it out, and it bothered him, and so he chose not to dwell on it.

His eyes flickered back to Jane's. Her support he'd never questioned. Not in this, and not in anything at all since she'd guessed he was a Frost Giant and stood by him without wavering. Her presence here, though she was an outsider, calmed him. He, too, was in his own way an outsider here.

But he was not alone.

At the clanking of chains, every head in the throne room turned, except for Loki's, for he was already facing the proper direction.

The hall was large, meant for impressing and intimidating and providing a show – how long ago it seemed and yet how recent it really was, when Thor arrogantly strode its length tossing Mjolnir in the air – and it surely served each of these purposes as Geirmund was led in, flanked by two Einherjar, each holding the end of one of the two chains that ran the length of his body from a collar around his neck to a belt and manacles at his waist and wrists to manacles at his ankles. He approached the throne with strides shortened by the length of the chains and slowed by their weight. He had changed from when Loki saw him earlier, now in brown leather pants and vest with a loose-fitting white tunic – simple clothing, but good quality, Loki recognized, as Geirmund and his guards drew closer. His eyes flitted about, finding his wife then dropping to the floor and remaining there as he was brought to stand directly before Loki.

"You have something for me?" Loki asked, not so quietly that no one else could hear, but not in a voice meant for a public announcement, either.

"Yes, my prince." Geirmund looked to the Einherjar on his right, who withdrew from Geirmund's belt pouch the thin notebook Loki had given him earlier. Geirmund took it, then extended his hands as far forward as he could – not very far – to give it to Loki, eyes still lowered. "Exactly as you ordered."

The page bore the right number of signatures, including the familiar names of Geirmund and his wife, along with a probable sister to his wife and his wife's father. "Lord Finnulfur," Loki said; the old man came to his side. "You might want to keep a copy of this for posterity. Return the original to me."

Finnulfur acknowledged the order and called forth a clerk to carefully hand the document off to.

With that, Loki turned sharply, mindful of the attention it would bring to his cape, and started up the stairs as though to take the throne. He didn't, of course, stopping just two steps up. But he had climbed those stairs, and he had sat in that throne, and he had held court here, all as King of Asgard. Everyone present had just been reminded of that fact. Including Thor, who fixed him with an uneasy gaze. Loki gave a small gesture of invitation with his hand, magnanimously permitting Thor to proceed. Thor said nothing, though his frown spoke of thunder. Loki looked toward Geirmund instead. Provoking Thor further was of no benefit. Thor's patience may have grown but it wasn't infinite, and Loki had made his point: Thor might have the throne, but right now Loki was in charge.

"Citizens of Asgard," Thor said, facing those assembled and putting Loki and his grandstanding behind him, "we've gathered here to address a serious matter. To right a wrong done to my brother…to both of my brothers, as well as to my mother, and my father, and to me. Over a thousand years ago, Loki suffered a terrible punishment for a terrible crime that he did not commit. Loki has always known this. The rest of us…we didn't believe him. Once his punishment was over, he never again attempted to speak the truth of what happened that day. Until last night, when a handful of us learned what happened. A grave miscarriage of justice occurred. Today, we correct that. In order to do so, I have granted Loki the Right of Recompense and Retribution. But first…Finnulfur?"

"Your Majesty," Finnulfur said with a nod. "Geirmund Faldarson. Last night, following your confession, you refused an advocate and a trial. Before we proceed to the pronouncement of your punishment, you will restate your confession for those who were not present for it last night."

Geirmund drew a deep breath, head dipping in a shallow nod. Without interruptions and without Loki's demonstration with the plates, the story came out much more quickly. "I thought the prince had made a mistake, crafting a useless arrow. So when he passed it to Hodur, I used magic to give it more weight. My actions cost Prince Baldur his life," he finished, after a brief version of how his jealousy over Nanna had ultimately led him to the stables that day.

"And afterward?" Finnulfur prompted.

"I invented a story for my mother and I fled Asgard for Vanaheim. I was in hiding for years. I didn't know what happened to Prince Loki at the time. But when I found out, afterward…I remained silent." He paused, mouth working minutely, before adding, "To my deep shame."

When nothing but silence followed, Loki shifted his focus to Finnulfur and found him looking down, a perfect picture of decorum…and discomfort. Can no one let go of the lies and face this truth? Loki thought, ire beginning to rise again, before realizing his instinctive interpretation was incorrect. Finnulfur wasn't dawdling out of sympathy for Geirmund; Loki had not observed that reaction at all in him. The Chief Magistrate was long accustomed to a lengthy process of questioning followed by unhurried deliberation. Here he stood – at Thor's request – taking simple statements and affirmations for an audience. It wasn't a role Finnulfur would have chosen. He was probably itching to ask more, to tease out every detail, summon witnesses, track down the little boy who'd also been in the stables and even Nanna for whatever insights she may or may not have. Before long, though, he continued.

"Do you swear that this is your freely given confession, absent outside pressure or influence of any sort?"

"I swear," Geirmund said, tone and expression grim but resolute.

Finnulfur nodded, bowed his head, and stepped smoothly back to join the audience. Loki thought he still looked conflicted, but that was his problem. Loki had heard enough.

"Bosi. I understand you wish to say something to this man?" Loki asked, imperiously enough that Bosi wouldn't be able to take it as anything but a warning.

Bosi stepped forward immediately. "I do. Thank you for permitting the opportunity, my prince."

Loki nodded, and Bosi approached the chained Geirmund, stepping around him and his guards to face him. Now only able to see Bosi's back, Loki's suspicions started growing.

For a long moment, Bosi simply stood there, Loki wondering what, if anything, might be passing between them. Then in the blink of an eye Geirmund was stumbling back a step, guards grabbing his arms to steady him, Bosi's tight fist back at his side after slamming into Geirmund's face.

Not far away, Thor had clearly tensed, and was holding a hand out low, a signal to the Einherjar, Loki realized when he saw them looking toward the hand falling uneasily back into position. A prisoner could be flogged, even put to death in limited circumstances, but he was not to be beaten or otherwise abused in any way not specifically assigned, especially not while he was in chains.

He stumbled, and by the time he realized why his knee had slammed into the pavement before the guards caught him, wrenching his shoulders, chaos had erupted to his left, and other guards were dragging someone away through the crowd, quieted from its shouting. He spotted the rock on the street, not far away, thigh only then smarting from the impact. Someone had thrown a rock at him.

Bosi, it seemed, was not going to be dragged away. Not yet, at least.

"I considered you a friend."

"And I you," Geirmund said, jaw reddened. "Your friendship meant a great deal to me."

"You're a liar. A man without honor. I am ashamed to have called you friend."

Geirmund's head dropped again; Loki caught the resigned nod.

"But because I am a man with honor, and because your mistakes are yours alone and your wife is a good woman who doesn't deserve this, no matter what happens to you, I will join Runa's family in ensuring that she and Nerid are supported and cared for, and that none of them are stained by your actions. Among whatever else must surely torment you, that need not be among them."

With that, Bosi strode back to where he'd stood before, next to his own wife, while Geirmund twisted around to murmur an unacknowledged "thank you."

Loki was about to speak, when Krusa stepped forward and beat him to it. "May I say something to the prisoner, my king? My prince?" he asked, looking from Thor to Loki.

Warily – though less so than before – Loki said, "You may," while Thor nodded.

"You were an impeccable supplies advisor," Krusa said, squaring his shoulders; Loki thought he looked gaunt, but he could not have really changed in a mere day. Still, the revelation must have struck him hard. Until now, Loki hadn't much considered how it might have affected others.

"I gave it my best."

"You should have turned down the position."

"I tried to. I—"

"You should have insisted. It was I who recommended you. I who sang your praises. You have humiliated me. You have—" His shoulders hunched over again, and Krusa's wife hurried to his side. Geirmund tried to reach for him, but his arms could not reach far, and the guards were quick to ensure they went back down regardless.

"Do you see what you've done to him?" Krusa's wife hissed before pulling him away with a firm grip on his arm.

With an unobstructed view again, Loki saw Geirmund's eyes clenched shut. When he opened them again, tears brimming, they met Loki's. Loki felt no sympathy for him, and knew his eyes reflected that. Geirmund took a gasping breath and looked away.

"Would anyone else like to say anything to the prisoner?" Loki asked with a cavalier glance around the throne room. If it was going to go like this, he didn't mind in the slightest. He might even pull up a chair and let this drag on all night. Pity it would derail things so badly if he availed himself of the fine oversized chair behind him.

No one else stepped forward or said anything, and Loki was about to continue when a lone voice spoke up, ringing out crisp and firm.

"I would," Frigga said.

Loki watched as his mother quietly came forward, step by slow, precise step, sharp eyes fixed on Geirmund until her back was to Loki and he could no longer see them. When Frigga revealed her fierce side, it was all the more frightening for the softness it was usually disguised in. Remaining on the steps, he crept to the side to gain a better view.

"You took my little boy from me. In doing so, you took another son from me for years, too. You disappeared and then a thousand years later came back into our lives. You spoke up for Loki. You said others were too quick to make assumptions about him. And I was grateful to you for it, because I thought…. But you spoke up only out of guilt, because you were the cause at the root of those assumptions. I felt a fondness for you, for what you said and how openly you said it. I urged you to move into the palace, because I wanted you to be safe. Protected. And it makes me feel ill now. My sons weren't safe from you."

Geirmund whispered an "I'm sorry" that Loki barely heard and Frigga ignored.

"For her sake, I'm glad your mother is no longer alive to learn what her child did. I can't begin to fathom what went through your head back then. You were a grown man and he was still a youth. I understand you were jealous, that you saw him…that you saw Baldur as an obstacle to the relationship you wanted with a girl, an obstacle you wanted removed. But Baldur never said or did a thing against you. He never even knew you. Did you really think you could win someone's love through murder?"

"I didn't," Geirmund said, shaking his head with more animation than Loki had observed tonight thus far.

"Then why did you do it? Why did you want him dead?"

"I didn't," Geirmund said again, eyes glassy with fresh tears. "I didn't want him dead."

Before any conscious decision could be made, Loki was standing beside Frigga and yanking on one of Geirmund's chains to force the prisoner to face him instead of his mother. "Your cowardice reemerges, does it? I'm granting you an opportunity to reclaim some shred of dignity and recant that lie." Before I gut you and let you bleed out right here in front of your loving wife, Loki's thoughts continued, though he managed to hold back from saying it. Now that the question of coercion had been raised, he was keenly aware of how what he said might be perceived, even if no one here seemed outwardly eager to speak up in Geirmund's defense.

Head lowered, chains taut as he pulled away from Loki as much as he could, Geirmund mumbled something that Loki couldn't quite make out. Or told himself that he couldn't.

"Speak up," Loki commanded, "and remember this. That you stand before the Queen of Asgard is irrelevant. You stand before Baldur's mother. Choose your words carefully."

Geirmund's back bowed as he strained away without truly struggling. "It isn't a lie. I swore I would never lie again. I didn't want him to kill him. But I don't deny my responsibility. The guilt is mine."

"Then what exactly did you want?" Frigga demanded, watching this insult of a farce, Geirmund pulling uselessly on his chains, then lurching back a couple of hobbled steps – as far as he could go with the guards still holding on to the ends of the chains – when Loki suddenly let go with a shove. The guards pulled him back into position, and he straightened up as though coming to attention before his queen, as in one of their encounters before she found out he'd murdered her son and let her other son suffer the punishment for it. The reminder of those earlier meetings made her stomach roil. "You took a flimsy arrow and made it lethal to a boy not yet fully grown. What did you want from that arrow if it wasn't my son's death?"

"I don't…I don't know…I…I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"You don't know," Loki echoed dryly. "If you don't know, then I think we should help you find out. Did you know that we have methods of compelling truth? They're dangerous and unpleasant, but we have them." From his pocket, he removed a square of blood-red mesh bandage, one which looked just like a common means of administering medicine, except that the standard ones were white. "And we're in luck. I brought one with me, just in case it was needed."

/


I'm still catching up on some things, but getting there. Hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Previews for Ch. 208: Geirmund is questioned. Things get uncomfortable.

Excerpt (Looking at it...it might change somewhat. But finding something sufficiently non-spoilery was tough):

Geirmund might have been stammering negatives, but he wasn't denying it. He was struggling against it. Loki knew that feeling, and knew without a doubt that Geirmund recognized truth in it, truth he was struggling against because he didn't want to believe that about himself. Geirmund didn't even have being a Frost Giant to blame it on.